


Empress’ Kill

by Darkrealmist



Series: The House of the Dead Poetry [10]
Category: The House of the Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassins & Hitmen, Battle, Canon - Video Game, Character Study, Chases, Cyborgs, Free Verse, Gen, Genetics, Ghouls, Gothic, Guns, Horror, Mutants, Poetry, Prose Poem, Science Fiction, Spies & Secret Agents, Survival Horror, Tarot, Trains, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-500, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrealmist/pseuds/Darkrealmist
Summary: A poem based on the charge of the Empress, set during The House of the Dead 4.





	Empress’ Kill

Empress’ Kill

Author’s Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the House of the Dead series.

Summary:

A poem based on the charge of the Empress, set during _The House of the Dead 4_.

* * *

Here comes the no-time train, right on time! Avoiding unnecessary trouble, they pick dangerous transit.  
Vexation at the warm welcome coming into the reception-unreachable, survivor-lacking station.  
Bombinates a buzzing engine in the subway car’s ceiling, alighting with a light-flickering thud.  
Nightmare! A ghoulish assassin from heck carrying a double-ended chainsaw flashing sparking teeth!  
Stuck under the decoupled door, as the red-eye bogey files forth its denticulate chopping mechanism.  
Retreating through retrofitted cabins used by undead commuters riding this and the opposite track.  
Don’t they know this is an unauthorized transfer point?

“That thing” closes in, a striated strake-streaking shadow. It lobs fire extinguishers in a rush.  
Stalks a bladed advance above, then rotating orange rents along the outer steel.  
James and Kate up their guard. Their haunter cuttingly gives them no quarter. Scarce a quarter inch.  
Stoops low, weapon riven and dragging notches behind.

Unswerving yet swerving crosswise, the breastplated phantom dices, unsystematic, chainsaw now two.  
The keen it lets out, not quite human and not quite cyborg, it takes with it to the open compartment.  
Backward against the second train grazing by.  
Deceased before reaching the final destination.  
Kate struts her hip and gun. Heroine.  
Worst chance for a victory pose.  
The hit-fiend missed the stop, but so did they. Have to jump!

It was one thousand two hundred ten, born once, a ruthless, born-effective eliminator.

I’m getting nowhere, real fast. What is it to travel anywhere, but to go to a here that isn’t there?

So tragically repetitive, the emptiness terrorizing the dead-end rail.


End file.
